


let's dance in the fridge light at two am

by mcmargentinski713



Series: My Niche Verse [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Married Life, Married Sex, Slice of Life, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 15:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13504449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcmargentinski713/pseuds/mcmargentinski713
Summary: He swears she’s cuter in the middle of the night when she’s only wearing her hair in a messy updo and one of his graphic tees.“And what do you think it is we’re gonna do?” She puts her book on math theorem’s down.He smiles. “We’re gonna go make cookies-- you said you wanted to learn.”“Stiles, it’s two in the morning.” she argues.He waddles over to her side of the bed and gently tugs at her wrist until she sighs and follows him willingly.





	let's dance in the fridge light at two am

**Author's Note:**

> I apparently have a domestic kink for stydia baking-- not sure where that came from but....lol. Also, I really love the simplicity of dancing with your lover in the refrigerator light in the middle of the night-- that one, we can blame Taylor Swift for since she includes a lyric about it in her best song ever All Too Well. So, that's how this happened. 
> 
> Warning: I've only tried writing smut a handful of times, so this may be far from amazing. 
> 
> Enjoy, and don't forget to comment because it would mean a lot to me! :D
> 
> Edit: I was listening to Ry X's "Dawn" album on repeat while writing this, so it might be a good idea to listen to it in order to get the tone of the fic. :)

He’ll admit it’s stupid idea.

 

But fuck. He wants to do it.

 

“Lydia, come on!” he yells, slipping his feet into slippers.

 

“Stiles, you’re wearing boxers and a t-shirt-”

 

“We’re staying inside.”

 

She scrunches her face in confusion, and Stiles sucks his bottom lip into his mouth to stop from laughing.

 

He swears she’s cuter in the middle of the night when she’s only wearing her hair in a messy updo and one of his graphic tees.

 

“And what do you think it is we’re gonna do?” She puts her book on math theorem’s down.

 

He smiles. “We’re gonna go make cookies-- I know you’ve been wanting to learn.”

 

“Stiles, it’s two in the morning.” she argues.

 

He waddles over to her side of the bed and gently tugs at her wrist until she sighs and follows him willingly.

 

“Okay, so flour first?”

 

Stiles props the fridge door open with a chair and Lydia sends him wide eyes. “What are you doing?!”

 

“We need a source of light, babe.” he mocks.

 

She shuts her eyes and inhales sharply. Uh oh. Now he fucked up.

 

“Stiles. You’re gonna spoil the food.”

 

He ignores her and goes to the counter where he keeps the speaker to turn it on and let Jon Bellion’s “80’s Films” play quietly through the kitchen.  

 

“Stiles.”

 

“It’s not gonna be open long enough, Lydia. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

 

She rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the recipe. “So, the flour first?”

 

“Doesn’t really matter. Just measure the dry ingredients and put them in one bowl.” he says, tucking his chin into her shoulder.

 

Lydia measures the sugar and pours it in.

 

“Good.”

 

He dances his fingers down her arm in small patterns until he feels the goosebumps on her skin.

 

“Now, the brown sugar.”

 

She finds the bag of brown sugar and pours it until Stiles whispers stop against her ear and lets his hand fall to her waist. He loves this feeling of control he has over her in moments like these, the way he can feel all her weight against him as she tries to keep her mind clear of distractions.

 

“Am I distracting you?” He gently teases her ear with his teeth.

 

“Stiles…” she moans, falling back into him.

 

He captures her hand and pulls her to the middle of the room, spinning her. He relishes in the way her tiny squeal turns into an intense laughter as he spins her toward him.

 

They sway to the slow beat of the music, dancing in the refrigerator light.

 

Stiles lets his head fall into the curve of her neck, pressing a smile into her shoulder. He feels her head rest on his chest. “I love you.”

 

Her eyes meet his, and he sees the way they sparkle brighter than the stars in the sky-- it fucking melts him until he’s a puddle ready for her to walk all over.

 

“I love you,” she breathes, and Stiles almost passes out.

 

“You said it back.” He smiles, then brushes a loose wave from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear. “You didn’t have to, you know.” They made a promise when they were still teens that they never _had_ to say it back, so Lydia’s only said it a handful of times in the last ten years and every time she says it, it’s like the first time.  

 

“I know,” she pauses, “But I _wanted_ to.”

 

Stiles finds his eyes drifting to her mouth, and he finds she’s wet it with her tongue the way she always does when things get intimate between them. He can’t help the next thing he does.

 

He catches her mouth with his, then with his teeth, biting and tugging until she deepens it. Then, they move like they’ve been doing this their whole life, and they kind of have at this point-- being married for four years and having dated for almost six years before that.

 

He walks them to the table, guiding Lydia over the wood so her head doesn’t slam into it, kissing her all the while.

 

She finds the hem of his shirt and tugs at it until he discards the unwanted item. “Impatient, I see.”

 

She always is, always has been when it comes to making love, Stiles thinks.

 

He slides his hands with a ghostly touch across her outer thighs, following the curve of her body he moves over her hips where he feels her scar.

 

He follows the pattern of it with his thumb, and moves upward.

 

Stiles feels Lydia’s stomach jump in response, he decides to tickle her. She kicks at the air around him, and struggles to yell at him to stop through her fit of laughter.

 

He slides her shirt up until he sees her belly, and then he bends down to blow kisses across the skin, tickling her more.

 

“Stiles! Stiles!”

 

He blows another kiss into her stomach. “What? I can’t hear you.” He jokes and tickles her sides some more.

 

His hands move away and back down to her center.

 

Her laughter dies when his fingers slip under her lilac panties, and Stiles hears the way her breathing picks up, which only entices him more.

 

His fingers curl around the cotton fabric, pulling it down.

 

Stiles watches as Lydia’s eyes flutter shut in response to cool air, and he lets her have it for a minute before he glides a finger between her folds.

 

She sighs, and he slowly swipes up and down, mapping out the area.

 

“Stiles.” Her voice rises in pitch, tempting him.

 

“You like that, babe?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

He swirls his fingers over her clit a few times. “You’re so wet,” he pauses, “All for me.”

 

“So so good.”

 

He teases her entrance and she almost whines.

 

“I want you to beg, Lydia.”

 

“Stiles, please.”

 

“More, love.” He enjoys watching her face scrunch up in anticipation for him-- it makes his belly turn to liquid.

 

She pushes herself closer to him.

 

“Ah, ah. Beg for it, and I’ll give it to you, Lydia.” he warns.

 

“I need you, Stiles, please.”

 

“How much?”

 

“So much. Just-”

 

He glides a finger in, relishing in the way she feels so hot and tight around him.

 

The sound she makes when he curls his finger a few inches in makes Stiles weak in the knees.

 

He honestly could get off to the sounds she creates alone, but he won’t let himself-- not yet, anyway.

 

He works his fingers in her to the pace of the music until she’s lifting her hips off the table and on the verge of crying of his name.

 

He knows her tell, it’s the way her breath is caught in the back of her throat as she desperately rubs herself on the palm of his hand, trying to get more friction on her clit.

 

God, she’s gonna hate him for all of two seconds while he replaces his fingers with his tongue.

 

Lydia gasps.

 

Stiles hums along her clit, tasting the sweet liquid and licking her good.

 

He dips his tongue in as far as it goes, and curls it up again and again until she’s pulsing around him and he’s moaning as he comes in his boxers.

 

She slides herself off the table and they collapse on the tile floor, high off each other.

 

Lydia kisses him lazily, and he knows she tastes herself. She’s everywhere, she’s in his bones, on his tongue, in his brain all at once.

 

Stiles can’t take it anymore, he flips them over so he’s on top, and slides out of his boxers.

 

“I want you,” he mumbles into her mouth, twisting his hand through her hair, pulling it out of the hair tie.

 

She tosses her head back, and arches up into him.

 

He aches for her, to be in her, to have and to hold forever more. He just wants this all the time. He wants to be one with her, that’s all he’s ever wanted.

 

Stiles reaches between them with shaky hands, lining himself up with her until he glides in-- slowly, then all at once.

 

His breath hitches. “God, Lydia!”

 

“Mmm. Stiles.”

 

He rolls his hips in circles, creating a friction that makes Lydia whine higher and higher until she’s not even making noise.

 

She meets his every move with a thrust of her own hips and Stiles feels it in his toes as his body breaks out in a fire.

 

“Lydia.” His breath is ragged against her open mouth.

 

He can feel the way she pulls at him all over, milking him for every drop of his love. It’s too much for him, he lets out a whiny sound from his throat as he cries, releasing himself deep into her bones.

 

She curls her legs around him, arching herself into him to get a better angle and bites down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. She does it quite often, actually and it drives him further up the wall, making him sob as he comes harder.

 

He rides her through her orgasm until his hips are numb and can’t move anymore, at which point he collapses next to her.

 

“Fuck, Lydia,” he pants, “That was…”

 

She curls up into him, pressing dainty kisses along his neck. “I love you.”

 

“Hmm. Yeah, I love you too.” he slurs drunk on her like he always is.

 

“I love you, so so much, words can’t even encompass how much I love you, Lydia.”

 

“I know.” She smiles, resting her head on his heart.


End file.
